After Hours
by the ramblin rose
Summary: Dixonne AU. She agreed to meet him after normal working hours. The timing was appropriate, since nothing about the meeting turned out to be normal. And sometimes? That's a good thing. Daryl/Michonne, Darchonne, Dixonne


**AN: So I wanted to write this little one shot simply because I was looking for something nice and light to enjoy writing. I've written much longer stories of Daryl and Michonne's relationship, but I've never written anything with them that was AU. It was just something I wanted to do and this is the result of that. I hope you enjoy it for what it's worth.**

 **I own nothing from the show.**

 **I hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think!**

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Daryl had already called ahead and spoken on the phone with the lawyer. Still, he felt a little anxious standing outside the door to the office. The building, just like she'd said, was unlocked. The waiting room was empty, as was the desk where the receptionist probably sat during normal business hours. These weren't normal hours, though. Daryl couldn't get off work to take care of things because if he lost this job? There would be no money that he could use to take care of anything.

Merle certainly wasn't bringing home the bacon. Especially not when he was sitting his happy ass in a jail cell.

Daryl found the woman's office down the hall and around the corner, just like she'd said he would find it. The door was closed and he read her name off the small metal placard there. Finally, sure that there was no way he was mistaking a single thing about this visit, he raised a hand and knocked at the door.

Muffled for the wood, but still carrying the tone and intonation of the call made earlier, a voice came from inside that beckoned Daryl to come in.

Entering into the office, Daryl found it to be clean and light—much nicer than the offices of many of the lawyers he'd been to see before. Behind a desk, and focused for a moment on something that glared at her from a computer screen, sat a black woman who was, at least in Daryl's experience, hardly what he would have expected for a lawyer.

She wasn't wearing the traditional, ill-fitting suit that he was so used to. She was wearing a simple, light dress that was, maybe, just a touch oversized since it hung lower on the shoulder nearest Daryl and revealed the curve of her collarbone. She had a nice neck—nice collarbones—nice shoulders. These were things that Daryl always seemed to notice right away about women, though he rarely ever drew attention to them.

He cleared his throat once he'd quietly closed the door, just in case the woman hadn't heard his entrance into the office. She held a hand up, silently requesting that he wait a moment, and he did. He watched her as she focused on whatever it was she was doing. Her face was drawn up in concern and her features were somewhat distorted by that same emotion—features that might have been quite well-put-together if they weren't clouded by the near grimace of some frustration found in the computer.

As soon as she finished what she was doing, though, her face relaxed. The lines and creases brought on by the growing aggravation melted away. They left behind only a line between her brows and an added pout to her full lips. Of course, Daryl didn't know her, so it was entirely possible that she always wore that expression.

She sighed and looked at him, rolling her eyes toward him like she was already tired of his presence.

"You could've sat," she said, waving her hand toward the two chairs that were waiting for someone to sit in them.

Daryl hummed.

"You told me to wait," he said. "I was waiting."

For a split second, he thought he saw her expression change. It lightened. There was almost a smile there—almost. It disappeared as quickly as it had flashed across her features, though. In response to the change, Daryl sat as was suggested.

"Dixon?" She asked. "Mr. Dixon?"

Daryl hummed again.

"Daryl," he said. "You can just—call me Daryl. Ms.—Williams."

"Michonne," she said, adding her own dose of "home town hospitality" to the meeting. "You're here about..."

"Merle," Daryl supplied quickly. "Merle Dixon? My brother. He's—they got him over in jail because last night there was this...last night he had a...an altercation."

Michonne picked up a folder that she had, looked through it, and looked genuinely amused for the first time. She had a nice smile, when she bothered to use it. Daryl didn't point that out to her any more than he had the collarbones that he'd noticed upon his first examination of her.

"Your brother didn't have an altercation," Michonne said. "He got drunk at the Wagon Wheel and he punched another drunk man, the bar tender, and an officer of the law."

Daryl sucked his teeth.

"He didn't mean for all that to happen," Daryl said. "It's just—shit happens when ya drink."

She raised her eyebrows at him.

"Is that so?" She asked. "I drank wine last night. Nobody was injured."

"It's a personality trait?" Daryl offered. He couldn't make it come out as anything but a question, though, because even he wasn't sure he bought it as an explanation. Michonne's expression, dropping back to the frown from earlier, made it clear that she certainly didn't.

"I won't say it isn't," she said. "But it doesn't excuse his behavior."

"He's gotta have a lawyer," Daryl said.

"He had a lawyer," Michonne said. "And then he insulted and berated that lawyer before he told everyone within shouting distance that he didn't want her as his lawyer. Now? He doesn't have a lawyer."

Daryl winced.

She wasn't lying. His brother was a jackass. What was worse, even, was that his brother was a pretty damn stupid jackass. They hadn't been in this town two weeks and already he was in jail. He'd gone off, from what Daryl had heard because he'd been working at his second job at the time and hadn't exactly had time to go trotting off to save Merle's ass again, and he'd run his mouth all over the damn place about how he wasn't having this woman as his lawyer because, according to Merle, she didn't look like she could be a very good lawyer. At least, not for a man like Merle.

The damn thing was, that not only was she the best lawyer around, she just happened to be the only lawyer within a hundred miles.

"Can I be square with you?" Daryl asked.

Michonne propped her elbows on the desk in front of her and rested her chin in the basket made by her fingers. She looked prepared to listen. Maybe she even looked a little amused. The frown wasn't quite as deeply set as it had been before.

When Daryl didn't immediately begin speaking, Michonne raised her eyebrows at him.

"I'm waiting," she said, not lifting her chin from its now location.

"My brother is a fuckin' idiot," Daryl said blankly. She looked to be waiting for more. Maybe she thought it was story time. Maybe she thought Daryl was going to tell her some long and deeply involved tale in which Merle came out looking like some kind of knight that was simply not seen for all that he was. When she raised her eyebrows again, this time to clearly ask Daryl if there was more to come, he shifted around and straightened his posture some in the chair. "There ain't no more to it than that," Daryl added. "Merle's a fuckin' idiot. He's an asshole. He's a drunk and a drug addict and I moved him here to try to keep his ass off the harder shit he was digging up in the city. Figured it was harder to find here. I ain't gonna sit here and make no excuses for him. There ain't none. But—he's all the hell I got."

Michonne sat up from her position then and changed to reclining back in the office chair. It rocked with her shifting of weight and she kept it rocking—probably with her foot. For at least a moment, she held a quiet contemplation of the wall behind and above Daryl's head.

"How long have you been in Jonesville?" Michonne asked.

"Two weeks," Daryl said. "Just about enough time for me to find work and Merle to find a way to get his ass into trouble."

"You don't have any other family?" Michonne asked.

Daryl shook his head.

"Not that I know of," he said. "Mighta been a few of my old man's bastards around—but I didn't know nothing about 'em."

She sighed and closed her eyes. She shook her head.

"If you won't be his lawyer, what'll happen?" Daryl asked.

"You'll have to hire one," Michonne said. "I'm the only one he's getting appointed. The whole idea is that beggars can't be choosers, and that's pretty much the case."

"Case is," Daryl said, "that I can't afford no lawyer. And it's gonna be me that has to foot the bill because Merle ain't got no money. What he took to go drinking? He took it from me."

Michonne sat there for a moment and then she shook her head. She was clearly fighting something within herself, because neither of them had said anything that needed to be negated.

"Maybe it would do him good to sit in the jail for a while," Michonne said.

Daryl chuckled to himself, amused by the fact that the woman was making just the suggestion that he'd mulled over more than once.

"Sit in there a day or a month," Daryl said, "and I still ain't gonna have the money for a lawyer."

Another pause from the woman and Daryl started to get antsy. He wanted to ask her again if she'd reconsider, but he felt like she wasn't the kind of woman who took well to begging. She just didn't seem the kind to respond to something like that.

"I can apologize for my brother," Daryl offered. "But—I can't change him."

Michonne looked at him then. She really looked at him for the first time. She locked eyes with him and he almost felt the instinctive need to turn away because the hold was too much for the moment. It was like, with that look, she was trying to read everything that was inside of him. It was unnerving, even if it didn't take much to rattle Daryl's nerves when it came to new people.

She broke the look before he did, though, and rolled her eyes downward to look at her hands that were resting on her desk.

"Fine," she said. She looked back at him. "Fine. I'll do it. But—I'm not doing it for Merle Dixon. I'm doing this—for you."

Daryl swallowed.

"For me?" He asked.

Michonne nodded.

"Because you're not like your brother," she said. "And—because I know that you can't change people if they don't want to be changed. I know it..."

She broke off without finishing that thought, but it struck Daryl. He wanted to know more of what she was going to say. He wanted to know more about her experiences with people that she found too hardheaded and set in their ways to change. He wondered what kind of place someone like that might have in the life of a woman who so clearly had her life together.

But he knew that he shouldn't ask. It wasn't any of his business and she was doing him a favor. He didn't need to bother her more by pressing her about details from her personal life.

"So—that's it?" Daryl asked. "I mean—do I gotta call somebody?"

"I'll make the call in the morning," Michonne said. There was another heavy sigh and she looked toward her wall where a clock hung, marking off the seconds constantly with a light click. "It's too late now. Everything's closed. Merle will be fine overnight."

"Merle'll be better off overnight," Daryl said. "At least I know where the hell he is."

"At least you know he isn't getting into trouble," Michonne said.

She stood up and Daryl followed suit. He figured that he was being dismissed, but he wasn't quite sure how to say goodbye. He didn't know just where to start. He needed to thank her. He needed to thank her for staying late and he needed to thank her for doing a favor for him that she would clearly find undesirable. He felt like there were other things that he needed to say to her, but he couldn't seem to collect them together and arrange them in a logical sequence. They were all running together in his mind.

To his surprise, before he could even start to get them put into order, Michonne had already gathered up her things—one small purse and briefcase that was neat and probably as organized as everything else in the room. She pointed him toward the door and he realized that they were leaving together—and he was running out of time to say all that he needed to say.

In the hallway of the building, then, waiting for her to lock her office door, and all the pressure on, Daryl did the most embarrassing thing that he could do. In his attempt to get everything out that he wanted to say, and to do it all at once, he got everything jumbled up and it was out of his mouth before he could stop it.

"Thank you for doing me," he babbled, freezing immediately after and wincing. He'd meant to say "thank you for doing this for me," but that wasn't what he'd said at all. He was mortified and already planning out places he might dig a hole suitable for burying himself in when she surprised him by smiling and laughing quietly.

She shook her head and cocked an eyebrow at him.

"It was nothing," she said. She lowered her voice a notch. "It was—a pleasure."

Daryl felt his face flood with heat, but he appreciated discovering that she had a sense of humor. It wasn't something that he'd always found with lawyers.

"I'm sorry," he said, shaking his head.

"It happens," Michonne said. "It wasn't the worst thing I've ever heard."

Walking down the hallway with her, naturally and comfortably as though he'd known her for far longer than the span of their meeting, Daryl realized that he wasn't quite ready to go. For some reason? He just wasn't ready to say goodbye at the glass door that led to the street. He wasn't ready for them to go in their opposite directions.

But he had no reason to remain in her presence.

Outside the glass door, standing awkwardly by as she locked it for the night, Daryl struggled for something to say, but he couldn't find anything. He couldn't come up with a reason that he might stall their departure. Finally, Michonne looked at him and smiled—a genuine smile.

"It was nice to meet you, Daryl," she said.

And again, seized by the moment, Daryl said the one thing that was waiting just behind his lips.

"You look real nice when you smile," he said. He hoped she didn't hear the "shit" that quietly followed after it as soon as he realized again that he was simply failing at everything for the evening. It was time to call this a night before he got himself thrown in jail for something and was very much without a lawyer.

Again, though, Michonne didn't look nearly as horrified as Daryl's mortification suggested she might be. Her smile only broadened a little, and instead of telling him that it was something entirely inappropriate to say—which he knew—she breathed out a quiet thank you that almost got lost entirely in the breeze that blew past.

It gave Daryl a boost, though, that he hadn't been expecting. If she wasn't utterly horrified by such grand mistakes as he'd made in the last little bit, maybe he might as well go a little farther. After all, he might be pleasantly surprised. And if he wasn't? He couldn't suffer too much more embarrassment.

He cleared his throat.

"You're welcome," he said. "It's—true. It's—you might not want to—but it's late. If you didn't have any plans...I thought maybe you might want to go and—grab some dinner? I don't know anywhere good around here, but I bet you could show me somewhere. It'd be my treat, of course."

"As a thank you?" Michonne asked. "For being Merle's lawyer?"

Daryl thought about it a moment. Probably that would be the most appropriate reason to take the woman out for a meal. It was certainly more appropriate than asking her out simply because Daryl thought she had a beautiful smile and she intrigued him enough that he didn't want to stop being around her just yet.

But very little about this evening, so far, had been appropriate. So why should he stop his streak just now.

"As a dinner," Daryl said. "For—for eating. And talking. And—getting to know each other?"

Michonne's smiled faded a moment and she rolled her eyes to the side, clearly thinking about all the implications of the suggestion. Daryl didn't realize how much he'd been hoping for her acceptance of the invitation until she started to shake her head and his stomach dropped.

"I'd love to," she said. "But I can't. I have—well, I have to go and pick up my girls. They're staying late as it is."

Daryl raised his eyebrows at her.

"Your girls?" He asked.

Michonne smiled, this time more softly than before. She nodded her head.

"My daughters," she said. "They're three and a half and two. I hate making them stay late at daycare."

Daryl swallowed and decided to take one more chance. He sucked in a breath, preparing himself for whatever direction this might go.

"They, by any chance, like to eat dinner?" Daryl asked.

Michonne laughed to herself.

"Almost every night," she said. She shook her head. "But they're young and I don't—they don't always behave."

Daryl chuckled to himself.

"You can't always control people," Daryl said quickly. "And—happens that I like kids. I got a real good feeling that they'd be kinda cute."

Michonne was clearly amused by that. Perhaps she was even a little flattered. It clearly hadn't gone over her head.

"I'll drive," she said. They were her only words offered to seal the deal. Daryl didn't try to hide how pleased he was. He nodded at her and waved his hand in the direction of the parking lot and he kept his step beside her when she started to walk. "You're not at all like your brother, are you?" She asked.

Daryl hummed. An odd feeling of pride came over him, just walking beside a woman like her on the sidewalk. She was out of his league. On so many levels, she was way out of his league. But she'd agreed to have dinner with him, with her daughters no less, and there was something to be said about that.

"Truth is? We weren't never tested. He might not even be my brother," Daryl said with a laugh. "Now—you better tell me something about these girls."

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 **AN: For anyone who has never read any of my Michonne stories before, I write her experiences as a mother from the comic perspective where she has daughters. I prefer it to writing her as having the one son, André, that they gave her** on the show.


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